The White Magic Five & Dime (A Tarot Mystery)

by Steve Hockensmith

  Castellanos cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.

  “If there’s any truth to it you’ll try?” he said.

  I nodded with all the obliviousness I could muster.

  “I will do my utmost to make an effort to see what I might be able to do,” I said. “Assuming your little beef with Mom is valid.”

  “My little beef? Look, you—”

  Castellanos managed to stop himself before he said the kind of thing that would’ve gotten one of his students a quick trip to the principal’s office.

  “Now isn’t the time for this,” he grated out.

  Yeah. Exactly. Which made it the perfect time.

  If you want someone to lose their cool, Biddle used to say, do it when the heat’s already on.

  Castellanos turned to go.

  “I understand,” I said to his back. “Maybe I’ll catch you over at Verde River Vista sometime.”

  Castellanos whirled around.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said maybe I’ll see you at the nursing home. I stopped by yesterday to talk to your mother. I hear you’re a real regular.”

  Castellanos looked like he wanted to start the wrestling match right then and there, Hulk Hogan–style. Pick me up, twirl me, and throw me. Or maybe smack me over the back with a folding chair.

  His gaze shot past me toward his students, then ricocheted left and right into the stands on either side of the gym.

  He resisted the urge to go Rowdy Roddy on me, which was a disappointment. I’d have traded some broken bones for an incriminating freak-out.

  “Are you trying to piss me off?” Castellanos said.

  “What? Oh my goodness, no! I’m trying to do the responsible thing. I’ve been looking for the jewelry Lucia supposedly gave my mother, but I haven’t found any of it yet so I’m not sure what to think.”

  “Maybe it’s just not around to be found anymore.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Castellanos gave me a look that was fifty percent anger, fifty percent contempt, and one thousand percent done.

  “It’s time to start the match. I have to go.”

  He started away again.

  “One more thing,” I said.

  He glanced back without turning his body toward me. Beyond him, I could see someone else walking up to the other squad’s coach, her hand out for a shake.

  Principal Little. She hadn’t noticed me. Yet.

  I didn’t feel like explaining why Julie McCoy of the Sedona Lions Club was now Alanis McLachlan of the Stalking Castellanoses Club.

  I gave Castellanos two thumbs-ups and a grin.

  “Go, BHS!” I said.

  I spun on my heel and walked off.

  After a dozen or so strides, I peeked over my shoulder. Little and Castellanos and the other coach were talking to each other. None of them were looking my way.

  I stopped by the Berdache wrestlers. Most were still doing stretches and trying not to stare at my chest.

  “Which one of you is Matt Gorman?”

  The biggest kid on the squad raised his hand. He had short blond hair and pale blue eyes and a confused look on his face.

  “Me,” he said.

  “Feeling good about today’s match?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Good. My name’s Edna Garrett. I’m a scout from Arizona State. We’ve had our eye on you, young man. Don’t let us down.”

  “Uhhh…okay. I won’t.”

  “Great.” I gave the rest of the team another thumbs-up. “Good luck, guys. There’s hope for you, too.”

  I left the gym and got in my car and headed for the White Magic Five & Dime. I wasn’t sure what to make of Castellanos, but there was plenty to be made from Matt Gorman.

  Eight words from the kid’s own mouth—that was all I needed to hear to know that Clarice was lying about the night my mother died.

  You could try telling Adam and Eve there that the chains around their necks aren’t that tight. They could probably escape and run straight to the Gap and get those privates covered. But it’s no use; they won’t listen. A certain trickster with horns and wings and legs that could really use some Nair told them there’s no such thing as spiritual energy. It’s only what’s right in front of them—the material world—that exists or matters. And they believe it, because they’d rather get their bare butts scorched by that torch than admit that they’ve been wrong. Fools.

  But hey…have you checked your butt for burns lately?

  Miss Chance, Infinite Roads to Knowing

  “Ping,” I said when I got to the top of the stairs.

  Clarice looked up at me. She was stretched out on the couch with her laptop and she looked very, very displeased with herself. Her bedroom—with its door!—was just a few feet away, yet she’d let me catch her out in the open.

  “Ping?” she said.

  “Yeah. Ping.”

  “Who keeps saying ping?” Clarice’s computer asked. It sounded a lot like Ceecee.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Clarice said to it. “Bye.”

  “All right. Bye.”

  Clarice logged off Skype or whatever it was with a few angry pecks at the keyboard.

  “So,” I said. “As I was saying. Ping.”

  I gave it jazz hands this time.

  “And a big blippity-blop to you.”

  “You don’t understand, Clarice. I just met Matt Gorman.”

  Clarice got that I-will-not-show-any-expression expression on her face.

  “Oh? Where?”

  “A wrestling match at your school. And ping.”

  “Will you please stop saying that? What is it even supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t know gaydar when you hear it?”

  “Gaydar? You think Matt’s gay?”

  “A ping is a ping.”

  “That is so offensive. You can’t tell someone’s gay just by talking to them at a wrestling match.”

  “Not always. But sometimes.”

  “Oh, come on! So he’s a little soft-spoken. That doesn’t make him gay.”

  “It’s not just the voice. It’s the whole vibe. I was taught how to look for it a long time before anyone ever talked about gaydar.”

  “Please. Are you saying Athena turned you into some kind of sex psychic?”

  “It wasn’t just her, but yeah. I learned how to pick up on subliminal cues. This guy’s desperate, this guy’s a liar, this guy’s into girls, this guy’s not. It all came in handy one way or another.”

  Clarice turned her attention back to her laptop.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Alanis,” she said as she typed. “I thought you might be a little more sophisticated than the people around here, but it turns out you’re deluded and homophobic.”

  I walked over to the couch and closed her laptop.

  “Hey!” Clarice protested.

  “After you called 911 to report Athena’s murder, you called Matt Gorman’s house. You woke him up—though supposedly he’d dropped you off here just a few minutes before.”

  “Who told you that? That cop Logan?”

  “You needed Matt to cover for you. You needed to get your stories straight. Why?”

  “This is crazy.”

  Clarice started to get up.

  I pushed her back down. “Why have you been lying?”

  “Don’t touch me, bitch!”

  “You killed her, didn’t you? You killed my mother.”

  I didn’t believe it, but I didn’t disbelieve it either. I was saying it to get a reaction. And I got one.

  Clarice slumped back into the cushions. Then her eyes filled with tears. Then her lips started to quiver.

  “You really think that about me? That I’d…your…?”

  Then the sobbing start
ed.

  “What am I supposed to think?” I said as gently as I could. “I’m not a psychic, but I trust my gut. And it tells me Matt Gorman is not your boyfriend.”

  Clarice kept crying. I let her. For a minute or so, anyway.

  “Clarice. The truth. Please.”

  “Okay. The truth,” she said, her voice shaky but the tears done. “Matt and I went out that night, but not with each other.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Clarice swiped at her face with her sleeves. “Yeah, your gaydar is sooooo good.”

  She glanced pointedly at the computer on her lap.

  It took me a few seconds, but I got there.

  “Oh. Well,” I said. “It doesn’t work as good on girls.”

  I plopped down on the couch beside Clarice.

  “You and Matt have been bearding each other.”

  She nodded.

  I wasn’t sure if she’d know what I meant.

  Kids today.

  “A few of the people at our school are out, but it’s not easy around here,” Clarice said. “Matt gets picked on sometimes even though he’s a jock. He does ping a little. And if the guys on his wrestling team knew, it’d be brutal. So we made a deal.”

  “And the night my mother died, you were supposedly out late with him when you were really with Ceecee—your girlfriend.”

  Clarice nodded.

  “You aren’t going to tell Detective Logan, are you?” she asked. “If it got around about us, it’d be—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll play it old school: if Logan doesn’t ask, I won’t tell, unless he starts wasting too much of his time on you and Matt. You know he considers you a suspect, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. It’s totally ridiculous.”

  “Not from his point of view. He told me he walked in on you and my mom arguing not too long ago. You were shouting something about not being a whore. Did that have anything to do with you and Ceecee?”

  “No! Athena had no idea.”

  “So what were you fighting about?”

  “Just…stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Stuff she wanted me to do.”

  “Like what? Take out the garbage? Clean your room?”

  “Yeah. Exactly.”

  “And doing that would’ve made you a whore?”

  Clarice put her stone face back on.

  “I hate taking out the garbage,” she said.

  “Clarice—”

  My phone started playing “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”—the ringtone I’d added that afternoon for a specific caller.

  “Speak of the devil,” I said when I answered.

  “You were talking about me?” Logan said.

  “Clarice and I were comparing notes, yeah.”

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “You’re all right—for a cop.”

  “Thanks. You’re all right—for a con artist.”

  “Former con artist.”

  “Right. Of course, I only have your word to go on for that.”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

  “No. What’s going on?”

  “I got another call from the medical examiner’s office. The last one I’m going to get about this, they say.”

  “Ew. Did you borrow something you weren’t supposed to?”

  “It’s your mother, Alanis. Time’s up. The cremation’s first thing in the morning. If you want to see her one last time, you need to get to the county morgue before they close for the day.”

  Logan paused, probably waiting for the inevitable smart-ass wisecrack.

  I realized I was waiting for it, too.

  It wasn’t inevitable, after all.

  “Alanis?” Logan said.

  “When do they close?”

  “In forty-five minutes.”

  “How long would it take me to get there?”

  “Forty-four minutes—assuming you leave this very second and drive in a way that I, as an officer of the law, cannot endorse.”

  I sighed.

  “What is it?” Clarice said.

  “Well?” said Logan.

  “Tell them I’m coming, Detective,” I said.

  I got the address and hung up.

  “Where is it you’re going?” Clarice asked.

  “Someplace called Prescott Valley.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s where my mother is, and it’s time I said goodbye.”

  I’d just started down the stairs when Clarice called after me.

  “Can I come, too?”

  I was going soft. Fuzzy kitten soft. Fluffy pillow soft. Twinkie soft. And I wasn’t sure why.

  I was speeding down the road to see a dead woman I hated with a girl who seemed to hate me. Because it suddenly felt like the right thing to do.

  How my mother would’ve laughed at that. Yeah, sure—gotta do the “right” thing, don’t we? Because that matters so much. Wouldn’t want Santa to put us on his naughty list. Ho ho ho.

  Maybe that was why I had to go. To see Cathy/Veronica/Carol/Barbra/Athena dead with my own eyes. To know there was no reason I should still hear her in my head. To find—

  God help me. If I caught myself thinking I was going for closure, I’d steer for the nearest cliff and do a Thelma & Louise. I might be going soft, but I wasn’t Jell-O.

  I glanced over at Clarice. She hadn’t said a word other than thanks since I’d told her she could tag along. She was angled away from me, watching the hills fade to jagged silhouettes as the twilight sky behind them went purple-pink. Somehow I didn’t sense the same old hostility from her, even if I was just looking at her back.

  She surprised me by speaking.

  “How we doing on time?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll make it.”

  I gave the car more gas. Not that I needed to. We’d be there soon. But it felt good.

  Right.

  “Sorry, next of kin only,” the morgue attendant told us.

  “That’s fine.” I wrapped an arm around Clarice. “It’s just me and my daughter anyway.”

  “I want to say goodbye to my memaw,” Clarice sniffled.

  The guy gave me some forms to sign, and we were in.

  “I’ll give you a moment,” the attendant said, and he went back to Angry Birds or updating his Facebook page or whatever it is people in his line of work do five minutes before closing time.

  Clarice had stopped just a couple feet past the door. I’d only made it a step farther.

  We stood there looking at the metal tray the attendant had pulled from the far wall. I could feel the frigid air that had spilled out with it swirling around my feet.

  It was like they’d been storing my mother in a vegetable crisper.

  “Sure you want to do this?” I asked Clarice.

  “Are you sure?” she said.

  “Of course not, but here I am.”

  “Well, I’m here, too.”

  “Okay, then. On the count of three?”

  “All right.”

  “One. Two. Three.”

  We started toward the body. It was under a white sheet covering everything but the shoulders, neck, and head. When we were close enough to see the face, I stopped and gasped.

  That magnificent bitch! She’d fooled everyone again!

  It wasn’t her.

  Only it was. I just hadn’t expected her to look so small and gaunt and pale. I’d been prepared to see the mother of my memories, and I got this shriveled little dead thing instead.

  “You all right?” Clarice asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  I made it to my mother’s side. I kept my gaze on her f
ace. Below that were bruises and incisions I didn’t need to see.

  “She looks so little,” Clarice said.

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “I had no idea she’d gotten so thin. Without makeup and clothes…it’s like it’s not really her at all.”

  “I know.”

  Clarice cocked her head slightly to one side.

  “You can still see how beautiful she was, though.”

  “Yeah. She was always pretty.”

  We stood in silence for a moment, unsure of what to do. We’d raced to be there, but for what? A twenty-one gun salute? A Viking funeral? A sermon?

  There was only one thing I wanted to say: goodbye. But it wasn’t time for that yet. Later, maybe. When I’d repaid my debt.

  If I repaid my debt.

  I reached out and touched my mother’s shoulder. Just one finger, brushing lightly over the cold flesh for a tenth of a second.

  Yup, she’s dead all right, I could have said. You up for pizza?

  But I wanted to say goodbye to that, too. Putting so much effort into joking, deflecting, pretending not to care.

  Soon, I hoped. Soon.

  “I’m ready whenever you are,” I said.

  Clarice looked a little surprised and disappointed. Like maybe she’d been waiting for the twenty-one gun salute.

  She turned back to my mother, bent over her, and kissed her on the forehead. Then, without a word to me, she started toward the door.

  Clarice didn’t speak until we were on the road back to Berdache. It was dark by then, and I couldn’t see her. But I felt her eyes on me for a while before she started to talk.

  “When we were walking toward the body and you stopped and gasped…I liked that,” she said. “I finally saw you have a reaction. An emotion. The rest of the time…I don’t know. You’re like a robot that runs on sarcasm and lies.”

  I flinched. “Wow. Good one. You actually managed to hurt my feelings.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t sound it.

  “Well, now at least you know I have feelings,” I said. “In fact, I could’ve gone into that morgue and bawled like a baby. But it wouldn’t have been because my mother’s dead. I would’ve been crying about everything she wasn’t when she was alive. And I’ve shed those tears already.”